One's Craft

Through the winding roads of Highway 41, north of Fresno, CA, and into the dense forests of Inyo and Stanislaus counties lies a hidden gem deep within the heart of California—or, well, sort of. As you exit through the famous Tunnel View, you’re met with the grandeur of God’s splendor: towering granite cliffs stretching as far as the eye can see, the roar of rapids carving through the valley, and spectacular waterfalls cascading from every direction. Yosemite National Park is no stranger to natural beauty. However, as you take in the splendor, another reality creeps in—one that you don’t often read about in your hours of Googling. Once the initial awe subsides, you start to notice the commotion around you: buses and cars rolling steadily into view. Driving further down the valley, you find yourself stuck in traffic, surrounded by other people absorbing Yosemite just as you are. Let’s face it—Yosemite National Park is no ordinary outdoor destination. It reminds me more of Disneyland: the overwhelming crowds, the distant smell of hot dogs, and the unmistakable commercialization permeating the valley. Amid all this, I couldn’t help but think, maybe Yosemite deserves a break.

Now, don’t get me wrong—Yosemite is vast, and I’ve explored its quieter corners over the past year. Tuolumne Meadows in Upper Yosemite is an absolute must for serene outdoors, peaceful hikes, and endless opportunities to marvel at the park’s natural wonders. But for this opinion piece, I’ll focus on California’s landmark centerpiece: Yosemite Valley. In early October, I spent three days of my birthday week preparing for the Half Dome hike and camping in the Valley. Remarkably, I managed to secure Half Dome permits for the last day of the season, just before the cables were set to come down, and even booked the last available day at Housekeeping Camp. Luck seemed to be on my side, and I started to believe this trip would be worth the effort.

That first sunrise in Yosemite was unforgettable. After a night of glamping, laughter, and battling an unexpected 33-degree chill, the Valley began to win me over. The first rays of sunlight bounced off the granite walls, the campgrounds were peaceful, and the air carried the comforting aroma of campfire smoke and bacon. It was bliss. But as the day progressed toward noon, Yosemite shifted gears. The once-quiet Valley filled with a steady stream of tourists, the hum of cars and buses grew louder, and the place began to resemble the bustling streets of Manhattan. Our search for a new campsite, closer to the Half Dome trailhead, turned into a drawn-out ordeal. Camp 4 was full, and as we crawled along in bumper-to-bumper traffic, narrowly dodging tourists at unmarked crossings, frustration began to mount.

A visit to the Visitor Center turned into another nightmare. I spent nearly 30 minutes circling the lot, only to find no available parking. After more U-turns and desperate searches, I gave up and headed to Lower Pines Campground to see if they had availability. The ranger laughed at the suggestion but kindly directed me to a waitlist. At number 33 on the list and with just 100 sites available, my hopes sank. With time to kill before the 3 p.m. announcement of site assignments, we headed to Half Dome Village. If I thought the Valley was commercialized, this was on another level—pizza, beer, overpriced canvas tents for $160 a night, and crowds everywhere. Disheartened, we retreated to the lodge, which had a rustic, eerie vibe reminiscent of Twin Peaks. By 3 p.m., luck smiled upon us again, and we snagged a site at Upper Pines. We settled in, surrounded by campers, noisy generators, and running kids, preparing for an early start the next morning.

That night brought its own stress. Around 10 p.m., I realized I hadn’t printed the necessary Half Dome permits. Panic set in as I searched for cell service to access my email confirmation. I eventually found a small signal zone near the Visitor Center and spent 30 frustrating minutes trying to log into the recreation.gov site. Thankfully, I found my confirmation email and, somewhat reassured, returned to camp. I barely slept, running on two hours of rest when my alarm blared at 3 a.m.

Despite my exhaustion, the early hike was exhilarating. The crisp night air, the brilliant starlit sky, and the silhouettes of mountains and trees filled me with awe. The trail was quiet, and getting slightly lost only added to the adventure. As dawn broke, the landscape transformed with hues of orange and gold. The towering granite cliffs of Half Dome gleamed in the morning light, a sight so majestic it gave me goosebumps. Away from the chaotic Valley below, this side of Yosemite felt like a sacred sanctuary. It struck me then: to truly appreciate Yosemite, you must endure the struggle. Like climbing a mountain, the peace and beauty reveal themselves only after the hardest climb.

Finally, we reached the Half Dome cables. They were every bit as intimidating as I had imagined—400 feet of granite wall at a 45-55 degree incline, with only steel cables and wooden planks standing between us and a sheer drop of 5,000 feet. Adrenaline coursed through me as I clung to the cables, my arms shaking from the effort. At one point, we had to wait for descending hikers, forcing us to cling precariously to the side. After 20 nerve-wracking minutes, we reached the summit. The view was breathtaking, though my thoughts were already preoccupied with the daunting descent. Going down backward, as others suggested, helped me manage my fear, but I still shook with adrenaline by the time I reached the bottom. It was an unforgettable, life-affirming experience.

As we made our way back down the trail, we encountered the usual crowds on the Mist Trail. It was a stark reminder of the noisy, commercialized Yosemite I had initially resented. Yet, reflecting on the journey, I realized that my earlier bitterness no longer mattered. Yosemite is what you make of it. For some, peace is enjoying a hot dog on a meadow bench. For me, peace was conquering the fearsome Half Dome cables and finding solitude beyond the chaos. Thank you, Yosemite, for teaching me to endure, to let go of my ego, and to truly appreciate the beauty you offer.